


De Novo

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:14:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days after the bells rang again in Ios, Kallias is summoned to the royal chambers.</p><p>Day One of Captive Prince Week 2016 and the  prompt <i>prospects</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Novo

**Author's Note:**

> Wiki says : In general usage, de novo is a Latin expression meaning "from the beginning," "afresh," "anew," "beginning again."  
> I wrote this really fast and did not edit. please excuse any mistakes or discrepancies from canon

Prospects

A good slave knows how to disappear. It’s not enough to be invisible — that entails an awareness of yourself that does not make for total submission. For Kallias, palace trained and fêted for the bastard prince who briefly became a king, the ability to disappear is what a shield is to one of those omnipresent guards. He learned how at the feet of the old slave master and then is seemed like another tool of service. If you have stripped away the things that make you yourself, then you can can dedicate all of your existence to whomever you serve.

  
Later, disappearance felt like a tool of survival as necessary as the beating heart in his chest. It kept him sane, when Kastor volleyed his anger and frustation into Kallias’s body. It kept him alive, when the bells rang again and Kastor’s men were swiftly eliminated by the joint forces of Laurent of Vere and _Damianos-Exalted._

  
Not even royal slaves were important enough to have the attention of these new soldiers marching heavy through the halls and Kallias had fled, painfully aware of what had happened to the slaves in Damianos’s household when his power had been taken. He knew those people. They were not invisible to him. Nohea, who had served in the baths. Lykaios, who showed him what cloth to use the first time he had served at the royal table. They were cut down, when Kastor took over, and it stood to reason that the same fate awaited Kallias now.

  
He disappeared into the secret corridors of the palace, listening to bells and rumours, until someone remembered to check a register or tie up loose ends. Then he was summoned to the royal chambers and collar around his neck, which had been custom made to his measurements, was so tight he struggled to catch a breath.  
He was still a good slave. He called on all his discipline to stay quiet and calm outwardly, as a young soldier with the manners of an aristocrat waited with him in the marble corridor. He will not struggle, he thought, when the knife comes down. He will not make excuses. What was the point of a life dedicated to service, if you balk in the last moments?

  
“Water.” The young soldier spoke and Kallias jumped.

  
“Of course. Sorry." Kallias rushed to the fill one of the shallow cups on the table. There were tables, chairs, papers and water all around the corridor which usually contains only art and clean empty walls. In the aftermath of Damianos-Exalted’s injury, the business of royalty was conducted from his bed.

  
“No,” said the soldier. “Stop.” Kallias froze.“Would you like water before you see the kings?” The soldier continued. Kallias wondered if his fear has made him delusional. It was unthinkable that a handsome, noble soldier would offer anything to a slave. A trick? Something in the water to ease his journey out of this life.

  
His hands shook as he sets back down the cup.

  
“I am Pallas,” the soldier said. “I served under Damianos-Exalted since Charcy.” Kallias gathered Charcy was a place, but he did not know of any places other than the palace and the slave gardens. “I was very nervous, too, to be in his company. But he is fair. And the other — I mean, Laurent, the King of Vere is…you will be fine if you are honest.”

  
“This slave does not lie to royals,” Kallias choked out. He had lied once, but never to a royal.

  
“Drink some water,” Pallas said.

  
Kallias gulped it down.

  
“This — may I ask you something?”  
“Yes.”

  
“Charcy is in Vere?”

  
“The border.”

  
“Were there others such as me with Laurent there?” Kallias had searched what he could of the retinue that came with the former Regent to Ios, but there were no slaves and he could not speak Veretian enough to enquire among the servants of the palace at Arles. There were no slaves, just jewelled pets and a pre-pubescent boy, and it hurt Kallias’s stomach to look at him. Not  just for the obvious reasons. The boy reminded him of the days before the palace, himself and Erasmus happy as bouncing lambs before their bodies maturity tore them apart.

  
“No,” said Pallas. “By all accounts, he despises the practise. I heard _Damianos-Exalted_ say that —” The door opened and the words were cut off.

  
Kallias was a good slave and prostrated himself before the soldier, who must have grown complacent in his service. Pallas bowed. Kallias pressed his face to the floor so all he saw were a pair of high leather boots.

  
“Rise,” said the wearer of the boots, in lightly lyrical Akielon. Footsteps echoed in the corridor and Kallias obeyed, though he wished to remain on the floor. He did not look the man in the face, because of his status and because it was nearly impossible to think this was a mere man at all.

  
Laurent, King of Vere, with a nod of his chin invited Kallias into the royal chambers. A good slave does as he is told.  
Following, Kallias can see the bright hair and the luxurious clothing. He had grown a little bit familiar with the ostentatious style of the Veretian nobility, what with the former Regent and the entire council playing havoc in Ios for some weeks now. But the King, naturally, is set above any of that. The velvet is the colour of the sky at midnight and the garments are so tailored, that he seems untouchable which is how it should be for a King.

  
Kallias followed the click of his heels through antechambers, past guards, and all the way into the sleeping chamber where Damianos-Exalted is sitting up among a mound of pillows.

  
Kallias hit the floor again. His heart pounded, so loud, that couldn’t hear anything concrete and almost imagined a snort from somewhere above.

  
“Rise,” said Laurent. “I do not like repeating myself.”

  
Kallias forced himself to his feet, feeling like the shaking legs might give out any second. His head stayed bowed, his neck exposed. He thought about how it would be easy like this for whoever swings the sword.

  
“Can you write?” A different voice, warm, with unaccented Akielon. Damianos speaking directly to Kallias. He had seen the King, when he was a lively Crown Prince, smiling at friends and telling anyone who would listen that his father would be better any day now. Kallias knew, in an abstract way, that Damianos exuded all the bright light a king should. But had never imagined that light focused on him.

  
“Yes, Exalted.”

  
“Good. There is ink and paper on the table there. Write down what you can remember of your time under my — in the service of Kastor. Be truthful.”

  
“Yes, Exalted.” Kallias knew better than to turn his back on the king, so side-stepped over to the marble table and picked up the quill. The slave trainers would have hated the way he fumbled, fingers thick as breadrolls and clammy as the baths. He tried to begin but there was nothing more than a blob of ink on the page. What to write? Kastor’s moods. Kastor’s grief. Kastor breathing so hard he almost choked on air after the Regent’s arrival.

  
“Sit,” said Laurent. “We want all the details.”

  
Kallias almost buckled.

  
“Kneel if you prefer,” Damianos said. “And know that you are not in trouble. There will be no punishment for what you did as a slave for Kastor, if you did anything at all. The master is responsible, not the slave.”

  
Laurent made a sound like a hum.

  
Kallias did not know where to start. It felt like this had all started for him long before anyone else in Ios.  
The words the King had spoken did not penetrate. Of course there would be punishment. It was impossible that Kallias would not suffer consequences as the personal bed slave of a usurper king.

  
Kallias had been brave before and he could do it again.

  
He turned back to the Kings.

  
“I must confess,” he said. He had nothing to lose now. His part in this royal intrigue was over. His role in the palace no longer existed. Confession for one last comfort. He would tell them everything then. “I have been a bad slave. I lied. I disobeyed. I just — I know my life is over. I know I have no value to anyone. But I cannot — if you will hear me, I just — I want to say the words. I only betrayed out of love.”

  
Something rippled through the kings. Kallias saw it. Disgust, perhaps, that a lowly slave would speak so boldly. Or maybe something more. Damianos had been betrayed. So had Laurent, by his family. Perhaps Kallias had a chance.

  
“Go on, then,” Laurent said. “Don’t leave us in suspense. It seems this one has more of a role in this than perhaps simply witnessing some of Kastor’s crimes.”

  
“He is upset,” Damianos said to Laurent. “What we count as betrayal is not the same as what a slave believes.”

  
“I’ll bet you a gold coin there is more to this distress than that. The last time I saw someone so afraid was during the fire show in Arles.”

  
“Speak freely,” Damianos said, speaking to Kallias now.

  
“I had my First Night with Kastor while the King — forgive me, the late King Theomedes, — was sick. In the days after, I realised there was something wicked afoot.” Kallias’s voice shook. His body trembled. “I did not know what to do.”

  
“You knew Kastor’s plans and did not —” A note of anger in Damianos’s voice. Kallias’s trembling worsened.

  
“Damen, if you did not heed Nikandros or —”

  
“Continue,” Damianos said, roughly to Kallias. Two Kings. They must love interrupting each other, Kallias thought, as they were the only ones who could and live.

  
“I had a friend. We grew up together. He was being trained for Damianos-Exalted.” Kallias felt another ripple, it rumbled outward from Damianos like thunder rolls in high summer storms. “I only wished to save him. It was a grave breach of the training rules, when I returned to the gardens and kissed him. But it was the only way to keep him safe. They would never give a soiled slave to the Crown Prince. He could live. I didn’t know where the chosen slaves would go, only that they would be going. I did not know that _Damianos-Exalted_ would be leaving too.” He steeled himself, found the strength to raise his head. “But if I did, I still would have given him a chance.”

  
Silence, and Kallias waited. Any minute now, the knife would come down. He knew what awaited Damianos those months ago and behaved selfishly instead of showing loyalty to the crown. He was not even loyal to his master in the end. A bad slave.

  
“My,” said Laurent. “I’m learning a lot about Akielon honour today. There’s a pattern here, that defies all expectation.” The boots clicked towards Kallias. “Where was your friend sent?”

  
“Arles.” Damianos answered for Kallias. “Isn’t that right? He was one of the consignment gifted to the royal family of Vere?”

  
“Yes, Exalted.”

  
“Lift your head,” Laurent ordered. Kallias obeyed and saw another impossible sight, more jarring than the King of Akielos risen from the dead.

  
A cuff of gold, beaming like the risen sun, on the wrist of his King. A cuff of gold just like the pair on Kallias’s wrists. A cuff that represented only the most private, complete submission. The world changed around Kallias. He looked down at his own body and felt like he would never be again be able to disappear.

  
A blink, and he forced himself to look away from Damianos. One simply could not stare at the King as if he was a slave on the auction block. Everyone admired him, of course, because he was so handsome and so strong.

Damianos possessed all the physical attributes that Akielons valued unlike Laurent who was closer to beautiful than handsome, in a way that most be important in Vere.

  
A glance at Laurent, and a deliberate flick of a wrist to reveal a matching gold cuff. The world shuddered again. Two Kings in slave cuffs. It made them people, somehow, and also it made Kallias something more than he was before his eyes had seen this sight.

  
Kings in cuffs.

  
His brain, his heart, no longer knew how to behave. His head spun and his pulse sped up beyond any speed it had ever did before.

  
“You have a question,” Laurent said. “That is why you confessed those things, though you will most likely not admit that even to yourself.”

  
“I dared not hope I would be able to ask, your majesty.”

  
“Ask,” Damianos said. “Actually, I will. What was the name of your friend who was sent away?”

  
“He was called Erasmus,” Kallias said. “Though he may have been assigned a new name.”

  
“He was not given a new name,” Damiaons said, a slight hoarseness to his voice. Everyone in the palace knew he had been injured by Kastor and Kallias wondered if the injury was causing him pain now. “He travelled to Arles with the other slaves. He suffered there, I will not lie, but he was brave and obedient and he is safe.”

  
“Your King sacrificed his own pride to have the slaves sent to Patras,” Laurent said.

  
“It wasn’t all me,” Damianos said, back to their private words that Kallias could not penetrate. He knew they would not speak to each other so candidly in front of anyone other than a slave.

  
“We saw Erasmus again, in Ravenel,” Laurent continued, “As the personal companion to Torveld of Patras. He doesn’t know how much he helped our cause.”

  
Kallias had seen Torveld, when he came to Ios as emissary for Torgiers in the aftermath of Theomedes death. He was distinguished looking. The slave who had been offered to him, untouched as was the custom to honour a prince, had said Torveld was kind and caring on their first night.

  
“You did save him,” Damianos said to Kallias.

  
“He always wanted to see the world,” Kallias said, and his eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I will write now. After, I will leave this world in the knowledge I did one good thing.”

  
“Leave this world,” Laurent repeated, with a new note to his accent as if he could not quite make sense of the words “Where are you planning on going?”

  
“I —” An uncertain look towards his King, as if he might save him from this question as he had saved Erasmus. “My part is over. I — Kastor’s men were killed and —”

  
“The men who committed treason against the crown were killed. I do not harm slaves,” Damianos said. “After all, I was one.”

  
The cuffs were one thing, the words another. The casual admission that the King had been given for a slave and that he had declared his utmost devotion to the man who had kept him made Kallias feel like he was part of a dream, something that could not be real.

  
“He wasn’t a good slave, not like you,” Laurent added. “Terribly disobedient. Always telling me what to do. Acting like he knew everything. Making grand declarations, such as an intent to end slavery in Akielos completely.”

  
“Starting in the palace,” Damianos said. “Write, Kallias. Tell your story. And when you bare your neck it will be so the collar and cuffs can be stricken from your body.”

  
“I will write,” Kallias said, clutching at the order he could understand because the rest was so unlikely. “But…” To even use a word that might contradict a king felt unbearably transgressive. It was only the giddy knowledge that his friend was safe and he himself might live that bolstered his spirits enough to speak so boldly.

  
“But,” repeated Laurent. A prompt.

  
“I do not know how to do anything but submit,” Kallias said, a quiet admission. He was not merely a slave, he was the prized slave of Nereus, Tarchon and Adrastus.He excelled at his craft and he would have been given to Damianos had Damianos not preferred women or,apparently the King of Vere. In another life, he would have gladly dedicated his entire existence to the service of royal men.

  
He did not know how to do anything else.

  
“You can learn,” Damiano said, “How to be different. That is a gift. I promise.”

  
A promise from a king who might have killed him. What a strange time to be in Ios.

  
“Thank you, Exalted. I can never thank you enough.”

  
“Thank him by doing as you are told and writing the facts,” Laurent said. “Do a good job, Kallias.” An order, easily obeyed.

  
“Our new reign requires new roles,” Damianos said. “Such as messengers to Patras, who are able read and write and accurately convey information. ”

  
“Who can confidently navigate a foreign court and possess the social skills and innate grace necessary to charm those with power.”

  
“Who are capable of acting on their own initiative and aren’t scared by uppity princes,” added Damianos.

  
“But I would not tell Torveld the King of Vere called him uppity or we might have a brand new war on our hands.”

  
“I wasn’t talking about Torveld, Laurent,” Damianos said.

"But he's the only prince we know."

  
Another grave slight, but the truth was Kallias was hardly listening. He wanted now, more than ever, to go across the ocean. To see his friend. To make his own decision.

  
The ink in the pot on the table seemed like a gift now and it was difficult to imagine it any way related to the paint he had once worn on his face.

  
Kallias turned over a to a new white page. He started again.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I'm going to post some more short fics based on the various prompts throughout the week. check the tag out on tumblr and do have a look at the other fics in the collection.


End file.
